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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358088">Traviamento</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/redroseinsanity/pseuds/redroseinsanity'>redroseinsanity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Meet me in the grey area [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Do they want to kill each other, Enemies to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Blood, Or bang each other, Sexual Tension, hero! iwaizumi, hero/villain au, that is the question, villain! oikawa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:40:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/redroseinsanity/pseuds/redroseinsanity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's too late and with a dawning kind of horror that Hajime realises his worst nightmare isn't his nemesis, the Grand King. No, his worst nightmare is the Grand King getting hurt. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>The silhouette of a hero and a villain is identical, what differentiates them is who appears when they come into the light. </i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Meet me in the grey area [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>135</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>396</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I'd replicate your pain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This can be read as a stand-alone but the experience would probably be enhanced if you read the others in the series. Either way, it's cool and it should still read fine! </p><p>This is also likely the final piece in the series and chapters will go up weekly (the day will vary but the whole thing is done so it's just a matter of getting it up). </p><p>Chapter title is from Carry You by Novo Amor For this fic's general mood playlist, I have a bunch of songs you can angst to with me on <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7f4bVghqnwXoLaC0tVlFYZ?si=0q8arkZeSTOe9Rg4xDFgfw%E2%80%9D%20rel=">Spotify~</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Traviamento: A term used in Dante's The Divine Comedy which is never truly defined but that scholars have taken to mean a kind of moral/religious/philosophical or existential crisis. A crisis that irreversibly changes your very sense of self and the course your life takes. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>At the cusp of daybreak, Hajime sits with the man who is meant to be his enemy on a rooftop in the city. </p><p>A bird sings as though unaware that the sun has yet to rise, as though by melody alone it can call out the dawn. Hajime wants to tell it to stop, that one voice in the darkness is nothing, can do nothing. </p><p>But it's achingly beautiful, a mournful tune that pierces the pitch black sky and softens it like ink in water.</p><p>“What are we doing here, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa tries to sound light, but Hajime can hear the sigh in his voice, the edges of exhaustion creeping in. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Truthfully, he has no clue. There’s blood crusting on the edges of his sleeve and his jaw aches although he can feel his body healing already. They’re meant to be home, they’re meant to be on opposite sides of the battlefield, not here, two feet apart with Hajime on the parapet and Oikawa curled neatly like a cat on top of a pipe. </p><p>“Could it be that Iwa-chan is starting to appreciate the joys of being in my presence?” Notes of teasing permeate Oikawa’s voice even as he stifles a yawn. Hajime doesn’t even bother dignifying that with a response, just slides a look over and Oikawa cracks a smile. A real smile — Hajime can tell the difference between this one and the ones that Oikawa plasters on his face in fights, haughty and cutting all at once. </p><p>“Or maybe you forgot that I’m a villain,” Oikawa’s smile turns a little too sharp, a little too wry and Hajime hates it, “Did you forget I’m not a good person, Iwa-chan?”</p><p>“But you are,” Hajime says simply, sidestepping all the ways Oikawa tries to rile him up, pushing back in his own way, trying to take that brittle acerbity off his grin. </p><p>“Wha-” Oikawa nearly topples off the pipe, planting one foot down to stabilise himself before looking up, his expression full of baffled suspicion infused with an untempered openness that peeks through the cracks. </p><p>“You are,” Hajime says quietly but firmly, the sky has lightened infinitesimally, the new day extending luminous fingers throughout the dark blanket above, “That’s why we’re here.”</p><p>There’s a shade that the sky is painted, before the black fully transitions into glorious shades of rose and amber, that seems almost grey, almost colourless. Perhaps it’s a shade so incandescent that the human eye cannot see it, but it casts something soft onto Oikawa’s face, illuminating the way his lashes flutter as he looks away from Hajime, the way his brow furrows even as his mouth tugs up a little at the corners. </p><p>A real smile.</p><p>The following months pass in a similar fashion. </p><p>It goes like this: they meet every now and then, whether alone or as part of a larger battle, they fight. No one comments on how Hajime doesn’t fight Oikawa head on unless they’re alone, no one notices that when the Grand King and the Ace do fight, it’s over quickly with minimal damage, no one is around to see the way their battles turn into dance patterns with each anticipating the other’s move, each trying to calculate where to hit and where to block. </p><p>It goes like this, they fight and then they find each other on rooftops and in the shade of trees, in shambles of buildings and quiet alleys. Sometimes they talk, Oikawa asks about Captain and Hajime tells him that his cat has found a new love for hunting geckos; sometimes they don’t and Hajime finds his heartbeat calming to the sound of his enemy’s breathing. Sometimes they sit for hours, sometimes it’s simply to give each other a onceover to see if there’s any real hurt, or for Oikawa to extract a soft catnip toy from his suit and press it into Hajime’s hand before melting into the shadows. </p><p>He knows this is a fragile truce balanced on something he can’t even begin to fathom. He doesn’t want to think about where this ends up, so he lets it keep going. And so it goes. </p><p></p><p>. . .</p><p>The sound of dripping water, his head hurts, his arm is on fire and his wrists feel raw. There’s a throbbing in his side. </p><p>Drip, drip, drip. </p><p>
    <em>“Hey, can you hear me?” </em>


</p><p>
 
    <em>Hajime opens his eyes to a figure, the light coming from the entrance makes him look like an angel all haloed and bringing relief. He tries to speak but a groan intercepts and the figure blurs. </em>
</p><p>Someone's shaking him and he feels his brain rattle in his head. The binds on his wrists loosen which is simultaneously a blessed respite from the rough cords used and pure agony as raw wounds come into contact with the air. </p><p>

    <em>Next time he opens his eyes, he notices a signature outfit and smile that everyone in the city knows, everyone loves. </em>
 
</p><p>
  
    <em>“You,” He croaks. Warhammer grins, eyes flashing and confidence infectious despite the fact that Hajime feels as though he’s been rolled over by a couple of trucks and thrown off a bridge. </em>

</p><p>Drip, drip, drip. The pounding in his head is getting worse, he can’t breathe, like cotton filling his mouth. </p><p>"Iwa-chan, wake up. Shit, come on, wake up, we need to get out," The shaking gets more insistent, but he wants to stay in this dream, in safe hands. </p><p>

    <em>“You’re the new kid on the block,” It’s a statement more than a question and nodding hurts so Hajime just grunts. Warhammer clasps his hands and pulls, his strength is amazing because Hajime is lifted clean off the floor and into a standing position. It doesn’t last long and he’s swaying, but the city’s best hero positions himself as a crutch and together, they limp-shuffle away. </em>

</p><p><em>“It gets better,” Warhammer tells him. </em>Hajime can’t remember if he’s dreaming or if this is a memory,<em><em> “You just gotta train harder, work on your strength.” </em></em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The fog clears but the goddamn dripping persists and Hajime can’t feel his legs which isn’t a very good sign. He’s worked on his strength but somehow, he’s still on the ground, feeling like something Captain coughed up on the carpet. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Drip, drip, <em>drip.</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
    <em>“Thanks,” Hajime gasps out as Warhammer delivers him to a hospital. The look he gets is fond and tired, it cuts through the pain-filled haze, makes him wonder how many people have seen the brightest hero of Seijoh so pensive, so wistful, so melancholy. But it’s gone before he can think properly about it and the thought slips into the blurring mist. </em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
    <em>“It doesn’t get easier,” The smile is back again, brilliant and perfect, but Hajime can see just the edges of it wane, “But you get stronger.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>His breaths come ragged, each one pulled from his lungs. Seven years on, it hasn’t gotten easier. Had Hajime known things would be this way? That he would have sleepless nights and guilt on his shoulders? That he would lose sight of what he was fighting for until every punch thrown felt like an empty gesture?</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He’s not sure. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Right now, every inhale sends a pang vertically through his abdomen and he doesn't know if he can be as strong as Warhammer, if he can get back up. <strike><strike>But even there was a day when Warhammer never got back up.</strike></strike></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Iwa-chan," Worried eyes behind an aqua mask distill into focus and through the lethargy, a bolt of anxiety shoots through Hajime. He almost laughs, he'd been dreaming of his hero and here, his nemesis had been the one to come to his aid. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>But lately Oikawa hasn't been his nemesis, not really.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"You're not supposed to be here," He rasps, the words sounding like they come out through a grater, "Miracle is- I thought villains don't get along."</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"We don't," Oikawa scoffs then resumes prodding Hajime into an upright position, "I came to settle a score with him and then found you here looking like… This."</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"You should see the other guy," Hajime tries to joke, coughs a laugh and severely regrets it when the sharp burst of white hot pain explodes in his side. Oikawa purses his lips and supports his arm. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Can you stand?" </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He can, with some help. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"It seems today, I am able to say that I have killed two birds with one stone," An infuriatingly even tone rings out and the pair freeze, Hajime's arm draped over Oikawa's shoulder, Oikawa bracing the hero with an arm slung around his waist. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>But before the implications of their current situation can filter through the pain, Oikawa is releasing Hajime, sending him to the nearest wall with a gentle push and striding towards the city's most nefarious villain, meeting him halfway and forcing him to stop a good distance away from Hajime. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Miracle sweeps an unimpressed gaze over them as he adjusts his cuffs. As one of the few villains to go without a mask, Hajime knows this man's real name and with his connections, he doesn't doubt that Miracle knows his as well. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Iwaizumi," Miracle casts a cursory look in his direction, "I was quite impressed by you when we met in battle but surely the Ace of Seijoh needs more than brute strength to be one of the best."</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>A derisive sniff has both Hajime and Miracle turning to look at Oikawa, who's arming himself almost lazily. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"He's not one of the best," Oikawa drawls, casually taking three men out with his stun gun without even breaking eye contact with Miracle, "He <em>is</em> the best. Did you see the way he got through the first five layers of your defense? Brute strength, my ass, you should hire him to give your goons a workshop on better security."</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Miracle's forehead creases although he makes no move to stop Oikawa, calmly watching as his men try and fail to disarm him, with Oikawa side stepping and executing a series of clean moves that have him ending right back between the villain and Hajime.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Protecting a hero, Oikawa?" He asks smoothly and Hajime's head jerks up to watch Oikawa's reaction. Apparently, being on real name basis is a regular thing for the two villains because Oikawa doesn't miss a shot, doesn't budge from his position between Hajime and Miracle. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Nope," Oikawa pops the 'p' before adopting a sneer, "Just stating facts, Ushiwaka-chan." </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Facts such as how you cost me more money and men than ever when you thwarted my Aoi Corporation deal last weekend with that little stunt you pulled?" In a split second, Ushijima has his gun out, the gleaming steel muzzle pointed directly at Oikawa's head. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Hajime feels his vision black out for a second as he heaves himself off the wall and coughs. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Get your-" he pauses to catch his breath and attempts to stop himself from swaying so much, "Get your damn facts straight."</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Now, he has everyone's attention and although the barrel of the gun is a hair's breadth away from Oikawa's head, Ushijima is looking at him as he struggles not to keel over from the pain. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Aoi corporation wasn't Oikawa, you numbskull," Hajime grinds out, blinking spots away from his vision, "That incident had over two hundred casualties and five deaths. Oikawa never causes more than fifty casualties and there have been no civilian deaths on his track record." </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He's closed his eyes as he recites this. It's become common knowledge for him, the way he's been studying his enemy's patterns and observing his attacks. He opens his eyes to Oikawa wearing a rather dumbfounded expression while Ushijima's lightly perplexed frown has deepened. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Aren't you two supposed to be on opposite sides?" Ushijima wants to know, his eyes flickering between the hero and the villain. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Facts,” Hajime grits out, his voice almost guttural as he struggles to hold it together while still projecting disdain at Ushijima. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The stunned pause that this results in is only a heartbeat but it's enough for Oikawa to knock the gun away, stun Ushijima and dart to Hajime's side. His momentum coupled with a final burst of energy on Hajime's part gets them to the closest exit and there, because Oikawa’s over dramatic tendencies don’t know how to read a room, he spins around with a flourish, nearly killing Hajime in the process. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Don't you know, Ushiwaka?" Oikawa purrs, his eyes ferocious, "An enemy of my enemy is my friend." </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Wheezing and half-lucid, Hajime registers them bursting through a door he hadn’t even seen and into the cool night air and then nearly blacks out as he’s hauled across the grass. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>"Your mask fails you, your pride is still your downfall," Ushijima booms in their wake as they hustle over the concrete ground of the compound. The scent of dew-wet grass and the hum of cicadas fill the air as they do a strange variation of a three-legged race, each step accompanied by numbing pain.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Although he’s sure they’re out of Ushijima’s sight by now, Oikawa throws up the finger as he herds Hajime into his car, and then Hajime is trying to cling to his flimsy consciousness as they hightail it out of there, tires screeching. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He’s not sure if he’s getting blood on the car seats but all Oikawa does is wind down the window a little so that the wind ruffles his hair and put on some god awful pop music. For someone who had a gun pointed at him not long ago, Oikawa is disturbingly chirpy and Hajime doesn’t know whether to be concerned or scared. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Instead, he leans his head on the rest behind him and evens out his breathing. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Thanks,” He mutters, eyes drifting half shut against the flash of the streetlights. Oikawa remains facing the road but his eyes stray to Hajime for a brief moment before his mouth softens into a tiny smile. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You looked so surprised that he knew my name,” Oikawa says, his smile inching into a teasing grin that blossoms into a laugh as Hajime glares, he chuckles, “What’s wrong? Ushijima isn’t a fairy that’s gonna steal us because he knows our names.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“A what?” Forgetting his wounds Hajime tries to sit up properly to look at Oikawa before the agony slams into him and he flops back, breath whooshing out in a way that prompts Oikawa to shoot him a look of concern. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa flaps a hand at him, “Don’t move! Relax, I’m pretty sure Ushijima isn’t fae so even if he knows our names, he won’t have power over us.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I thought you believed in aliens not fairies,” Hajime watches the travelling light from streetlamps glide across Oikawa’s face and slip off him like water. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“We live in a world that has superpowered humans, it’s not a stretch that aliens exist too, and there’s literature that suggests that early records of fae were actually based on alien interactions,” Oikawa informs him matter-of-factly. Hajime must have slid into the throes of insanity because he seriously considers this and worse, thinks that it comes off cute and endearing and comforting in a way that would startle him more if he wasn’t practically delirious from the excruciating throbbing throughout his entire body. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Superman is an alien, so maybe we’re all aliens,” He finds himself saying and he wants to retract it the moment it crosses his exhaustion loosened lips, but it earns a delighted look from Oikawa and it doesn’t seem so bad after all. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>It occurs to Hajime that he wants Oikawa like this, in the stillness of night rather than the clang of battle, with the light flooding his face instead of losing sight of him in the darkness, in the serenity of sunrises on rooftops and without the tightness around his eyes. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Over years and blows, he’s grown to respect the Grand King, it’s a part of Oikawa that he knows makes him Oikawa as much as Oikawa makes the Grand King the Grand King. But he likes this Oikawa, revealed to him in the quiet of corners that they eke out in a world that has no room for them, unmasked and, close enough to make-believe even for a breath, his. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For anyone who has waited for this instalment, thank you for your patience. Life hit me hard so this was difficult to get out. I hope you enjoyed it!</p><p>I just want to put a disclaimer out there that I'm not saying Ushijima is evil. I love him, but I did need an antagonist and I feel that the way he approaches things (especially when he's younger) clashes very directly with what Oikawa stands for which makes him very appropriate for this role! </p><p>Let me know what you thought or hit me up on <a href="https://redroseinsanity.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I'll use you as a warning sign</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter title is from I Found by Amber Run. For this fic's general mood playlist, I have a bunch of songs you can angst to with me on  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7f4bVghqnwXoLaC0tVlFYZ?si=0q8arkZeSTOe9Rg4xDFgfw%E2%80%9D%20rel=">Spotify~</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"What kind of self-respecting person doesn't have milk bread on standby in their house?"</p>
<p>"You can just starve, I'm not bothered," Hajime tells him, trying to breathe through the pain as he gingerly sinks back into the couch. </p>
<p>"Ungrateful brute," Oikawa throws over his shoulder while poking around the fridge and he eventually comes back with an ice pack. </p>
<p>As Hajime presses the cool relief to his cheek, Oikawa roots around until he finds the medical supplies and then rummages some more until he locates what he's looking for. </p>
<p>At the sleek, metallic sound of blade upon blade, Hajime tenses and turns to where Oikawa stands with a pair of scissors in hand. </p>
<p>"What are you doing?" His voice holds a half-hearted warning, as though he hasn't already relaxed back into the cushions and is only watching the villain out of the corner of his eye. </p>
<p>"You have wounds on your side and your clothes are in the way," Oikawa announces matter of factly, opening and closing the scissors to punctuate the statement. </p>
<p>"So you're going to cut open my suit? Which cost more than my car?" Hajime is aghast, "I can just take it off."</p>
<p>"You can't with your arm like that," Oikawa points out, getting closer and closer with the household weapon and eyes fixed unnervingly on the collar of Hajime's suit. </p>
<p>He has a point, but Hajime is not about to let him near his precious suit. With some difficulty, he sits up and has to take a moment to stop the room from spinning, fingers digging into the plush sofa material before he looks at Oikawa. </p>
<p>"I can if you help me," That stops Oikawa in his tracks and an unfamiliar rosy tint spreads across his cheeks, hidden by dirt marks and overshadowed by a thin scratch running from ear to jaw. </p>
<p>"It's not like the scissors would have any use against my suit," Hajime chuckles and angles his back towards Oikawa, "Put those down and give me a hand." </p>
<p>There's a bout of silence that Hajime doesn't know how to interpret and it weighs in the cool night air, diluting the dawn mix of sunrise streaks and nighttime shadows. Then a light pressure on his shoulder as Oikawa's calloused hand skims the seams of his suit and the couch cushion beside him dips with the weight of Oikawa's knee. </p>
<p>Hajime fixes his eyes on the scratch marks on the legs of his kitchen chair while Oikawa's hands become a hummingbird in fleeting touches that have Hajime's breath coming shorter and his body responding like a traitor to every featherlight brush. </p>
<p>By the time Oikawa chances upon the zip and begins peeling Hajime out of the suit, Hajime feels like a spring that is endlessly coiling and coiling, the tension ever-building but never released. Around them, time seems to slow, liquify into syrup as Hajime’s focus shrinks to the feel of Oikawa’s hands on him and the racing thud of his heart. </p>
<p>The silence should be awkward and uncomfortable, but as Oikawa delicately eases Hajime's injured arm out of the sleeve, the charge in the air is palpable. When Oikawa works his fingers underneath the suit, Hajime flinches, more from the spark of contact than pain, and then freezes as a low apology is murmured. He can feel the other man’s exhale on the nape of his neck, can hear the blood rushing in his ears. </p>
<p>Too late, he registers his mistake as cool air replaces warm hands and Oikawa tugs Hajime’s suit off—he’s never going to be able to misplace the sensation of Oikawa’s hands on him and already, his skin burns in the wake of their retreat.  </p>
<p>With a grunt, he shifts just in time to catch dark honey eyes flitting up to meet his gaze, as though they hadn’t been tripping down the length of his back a split second ago. He tucks his chin into his collarbone, takes a look at his own wound and sighs. </p>
<p>“Dammit, that’s probably a week that I’m barred from physical exertion,” He grumbles. Oikawa narrows his gaze. </p>
<p>“I’m glad you know. Now hold still so that I don’t stick this needle anywhere I’m not supposed to.”</p>
<p>“What did Miracle mean?” Hajime asks, trying to take shallow breaths around the pain and ignore the sting of antiseptic as Oikawa starts by cleaning the gash in his side. </p>
<p>“Ushiwaka was being his usual self,” Oikawa mutters, preparing the thread and settling in a heap on the floor to begin, “That is to say, being an ass.”</p>
<p>“Oikawa,” Hajime tries to bend and catch the other’s eye but ends up jostling his wound and a hiss of pain escapes him, “Why- What did he mean by 'Your mask fails you, your pride is still your downfall’?”</p>
<p>A loud gap in the conversation is his response as Oikawa begins suturing his wound with even precision and Hajime clenches his jaw in an effort to stay still. The bite of the needle is overcast by how it's odd, unsettling even, to be so acutely aware of Oikawa's sudden lack of speech since the villain has always been the more talkative of the two. </p>
<p>Now he works mutely, with a drawn expression that dims his eyes and it inexplicably makes Hajime want to pull him closer. </p>
<p>"You'll need fresh changes of dressing every day and plenty of rest," Oikawa finally says, and when Hajime looks, a neat row of stitches are his nemesis's handiwork, "Now let me see your arm."</p>
<p>He makes to get up but Hajime's good hand moves faster than his mind and shoots out, grabs Oikawa's wrist. He has no idea what he's doing or what he wants and immediately, he relaxes his grip, his fingers only loosely encircling the bony wrist and letting Oikawa know he can break free anytime he wants. </p>
<p>Oikawa doesn't even bother snatching his arm back, just allows his molten gaze to trail from forearm to the wound he just stitched and slowly, inchingly up Hajime's sweaty, bruised, bare torso to his face. </p>
<p>The electricity is back again, the current so strong that Hajime feels as though he's about to shiver out of his skin. Surveying him from under half-mast lids and inky lashes, Oikawa is a siren, one that can and will lead him to his doom and yet, if Oikawa calls, Hajime knows he will follow. </p>
<p>Involuntarily, his hold tightens and Oikawa's eyes blaze before smouldering, embers after a fire, the muscle in his jaw jumping. </p>
<p>In a smooth maneuver, Oikawa launches up, swivelling his wrist and placing his hand on Hajime's shoulder. Hajime blinks at the man hovering directly above him and feels his breath catch from the proximity of him, the way it feels to have the forbidden fruit in your hands, the option of taking a bite tantalisingly close. </p>
<p>He watches Oikawa's eyes flicker down to his lips and then back up, lies back and allows Oikawa to settle in a warm weight on him. It takes everything he has to hold himself down, chest heaving, mind turning hazy from just being so close to Oikawa. </p>
<p>Then, faster than he can register, Oikawa's switching hands, gripping his bad arm and with a terrible sensation, he pops Hajime's dislocated arm back in place, eliciting a shocked groan of pain. </p>
<p>"I'll be back with more supplies tomorrow," Oikawa tells him, and it doesn't feel right; the set of his mouth and the crease between his eyebrows. </p>
<p>"I'll be fine. Besides, only my fingerprint opens the door and the neighbours will notice if you loiter outside," Hajime tries to keep it curt, tries to prevent the blush from rising in his cheeks. </p>
<p>The faintest echoes of his old smirk on his face, Oikawa looks a smidgen closer to his usual self as he stands to go. </p>
<p>"I'll drop by some other way then," He sticks his tongue out and something inside Hajime that he hadn't known was stoppered eases with a sigh and begins flowing again, "Besides, if you're stuck in bed, who's going to feed your cat?"</p>
<p>Hajime wants to retort but the Oikawa is gone in a flutter of curtains and as if on cue, Captain jumps up onto Hajime's stomach and he nearly passes out from the pain. </p>
<p>. . . </p>
<p>Over the next few days, true to his word, Oikawa entirely abandons coming in through the front door. Instead, he makes it through the obstacle course Hajime laid at the back of the house and picks the lock of the door that leads to the kitchen, swings himself in through the upstairs window, bypassing the traps set on the sill and ledge. </p>
<p>It’s driving Hajime insane in a slow, agonizing way that makes him wonder if this is some kind of psychological warfare that Oikawa is using to render him mentally indisposed since he’s already physically indisposed. </p>
<p>Hajime’s on the couch, basking in the late afternoon sun like a lizard when Oikawa vaults in through a ground floor window and narrowly dodges the blade that slams down after him. A lock of chestnut hair floats to the floor in glinting strands and Hajime makes a distressed noise at the back of his throat. </p>
<p>Unfazed, Oikawa trots over with a bag of more medical supplies and peers at him with a grin, just as he has every day for the past week. After a quick change of dressing and several barbs exchanged, Oikawa heads to the kitchen with whatever food he’s brought this time.</p>
<p>Having been at the mercy of Oikawa’s food decisions and palate, Hajime has come to the conclusion that his enemy has the best nutrition values packaged in the shittiest food choices. Sure, the food he’s brought covers all the food groups, isn’t unhealthy but is just strange in terms of combination. </p>
<p>Beef stew soba, potato omelettes, carbonara with kimchi and vegetable pancakes but with an assortment of vegetables he's never heard of before, served with herbal chicken soup. It’s all very confusing and even more disorienting is that every single unusual dish tastes superb. Hajime doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t want to try making anything of it. </p>
<p>He hears the exact moment that Oikawa sees it, the abrupt halting of footsteps and he tries to ignore the corresponding stutter in his chest. He waits, listening to time passing in inhales and exhales, as the footsteps resume and end in the sound of rustling plastic. </p>
<p>“Is this…” Oikawa trails off only for his voice to sound louder, closer and more excited, “Iwa-chaaaan! How did you get it?”</p>
<p>Oikawa’s head pops into view as he leans on the back of the couch, a pack of milk bread in hand. Hajime has time to think, <em>Ah, so he chose the one with the blue packaging. Maybe that’s the better brand then,</em> before Oikawa is frowning.</p>
<p>“You’re not supposed to move around too much, don’t tell me you were naughty and went to the supermarket,” Oikawa squints down at him although he’s already tearing the pack open and practically shoving his face into the tiny gap, breathing in the fragrance. </p>
<p>“Not sure which day and age you’re living in, but we can order groceries to be delivered, you know,” Hajime says pointedly, trying not to smile as Oikawa closes his eyes and chews happily. </p>
<p>“Rude, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sings before turning to look at the small hill of milk bread piled on the kitchen counter, “Are they all for me? There’s so much!”</p>
<p>“I just didn’t want you complaining about it every time you came over, not when I can’t hit you yet,” Hajime grumbles, “They’re all for you, I don’t eat this.”</p>
<p>“Don’t-” Oikawa’s mouth hangs open in shock, horror filling his eyes, “Do you not like milk bread, Iwa-chan?”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t know, haven’t tried it and don’t want to try it,” Hajime tries not to feel embarrassed as Oikawa gasps a ‘No!’ as though it’s some kind of travesty rather than simply not being the most adventurous culinary-wise. </p>
<p>Oikawa drapes himself over the back of the couch, lean body curving down and then a small, fluffy, torn off piece of milk bread is being held at his lips. </p>
<p>“Try,” Oikawa demands, “If you die in the next fight, I will have done my duty and ensured that you’ve had a taste of milk bread before leaving this realm.”</p>
<p>Hajime snorts, eyeing the bread, the pale fingers holding it and then narrows his eyes, “Not interested.”</p>
<p>Oikawa squawks then gently nudges his lips with the bread, a playful grin lighting his face. Something inside Hajime fidgets, tenses and finally sighs, an exhale tinged with more relief than resignation, that loosens and settles.  </p>
<p>“Move, or I’ll bite you,” He warns, glaring and just like that, Oikawa’s eyes go darker, lids lowering, his smile turning coquettish as he leans in further, close enough that Hajime can smell his shampoo. </p>
<p>“Promise?” Oikawa’s voice drops to a husky drawl and Hajime feels a lurch of heat under his navel, feels all his blood rush south and struggles to keep the frown on his face. Beneath the brazen expression, he catches a glimmer of a teasing smile on Oikawa’s face and his heartbeat ignites into a blaze of competitive streak and simmering desire. <em>Two can play</em>.</p>
<p>He looks up to where Oikawa hangs above him, suspended and framed by the pale lavender of Hajime’s ceiling and the strong, steady sunlight that filters through thin curtains, catches Oikawa’s gaze and holds it. Eyes never leaving his, Hajime takes the bite, teeth dragging over skin, mouth hot on fingers and lips easing off fingertips. </p>
<p>A strangled gasp as Oikawa pitches forward, off-balance and brown eyes beautifully wide with surprise. Surprise that quickly segues into alarm as Oikawa topples toward Hajime and he registers the impending tumble onto Hajime’s mid-recovery abdomen. Hajime braces for the impact, he heals relatively fast and he’s almost fully recovered by now anyway, but Oikawa pushes off the edge of the sofa with his hands and uses the momentum to twist into a somersault over Hajime’s body and into the coffee table. </p>
<p>“Ow,” Oikawa sits up laughing and Hajime can feel the petals of a flower unfurling in his chest at the sound as he levers himself up and faces Oikawa. </p>
<p>“Are you hurt?” He asks while Oikawa pets the table looking for cracks. </p>
<p>“Nah, I'm fine, I’m more worried about your table but wow, it’s so sturdy, where’d you get this?” Oikawa stills when Hajime grips his chin to peer into his eyes, looking for signs of a concussion and then relaxes when, satisfied, Hajime pulls away to glance down and examine the rest of him. </p>
<p>“It’s custom made,” Hajime replies off-handedly once he’s assured that the most Oikawa will get from this is a few bruises, “Same place I got the suit. You dumbass, why’d you do something so dangerous? You could’ve just landed on me, I can take it, I’m practically recovered.”</p>
<p>Oikawa turns an amused gaze on him, running a hand over the tabletop one last time before getting to his feet and brushing off imaginary dust. </p>
<p>“Practically recovered isn’t the same as recovered,” He retorts, “I spend days avoiding death traps in your house and you worry about me falling on your super strong table?”</p>
<p>Suddenly, Hajime knows what he’s been wanting to do, what that insistent thrum in his head means, what that flutter in his veins is asking. It’s insane, he’s probably insane, but nothing has made sense since Oikawa showed up at his door that night. </p>
<p>He stands and like this, it’s almost too close, almost too much. The heat that pours off Oikawa’s body is scorching, he can inhale the breath that skitters from Oikawa’s lips like this, close enough to kiss. Instead, he reaches blindly and catches Oikawa’s forearm, tugs at the other to follow him. </p>
<p>The sunlight slants across the floor, painting it gold in broad stripes that are intermittently broken by two sets of feet padding across the room, shadows rolling and making the light ripple over the floor, the sea in a house. </p>
<p>They stop at the door, or to be more precise, the keypad on the wall next to the door. Hajime reaches up for the button and when requested verifies his name, scans his iris and his fingerprint. </p>
<p>“Welcome, Iwaizumi Hajime. What would you like to do today?” The cool, automated tone rings into the silence. </p>
<p><em>Insanity.</em> Hajime takes a breath and throws himself into the storm. </p>
<p>“Register a new fingerprint for house access,” He says, voice steady and firm, feeling the flower inside bloom just a little more. Beside him, Oikawa takes a sharp breath and a half step backward, but he doesn’t slip from Hajime's grasp and he doesn’t walk away.</p>
<p>Hajime selfishly lets his hand trip down the length of Oikawa’s forearm until he reaches his wrist and he can guide Oikawa’s hand to the keypad. Oikawa’s hand is far from limp, but he allows Hajime to maneuver his fingers into place, lets him hold them at the right pressure while his prints are scanned. </p>
<p>When the automated voice delivers a ‘Registration confirmed’ and there is no flimsy excuse to hide behind anymore, Hajime gently releases the warm hand and casts about for something to say. </p>
<p>“Come in through the door next time,” He murmurs and slowly begins to head back to the couch. </p>
<p>“You asked what Ushiwaka- What Miracle meant,” Oikawa’s voice stops him in the middle of the room and when he turns, Oikawa is frozen by the door, staring at his hands. He seems to struggle before looking up at Hajime and Hajime waits, looking back, watching his throat bob as he finds the words. </p>
<p>“What do you know about Warhammer?” Oikawa eventually asks. </p>
<p>“Warhammer?” Hajime echoes, “You mean the most powerful hero of Seijoh? He was one of the best,” Hajime softens a little, “The best. Then he just disappeared, no one knows what happened, why, he just. Vanished, if he died or retired or- Or anything.”</p>
<p>He glances at Oikawa who's watching him with a careful, odd expression. </p>
<p>"The best," He repeats, "Shit, who doesn’t know him? Even if you came on the scene just after he left-" Something makes him stop there, makes him change his tone when he says it again. </p>
<p>"You came on the scene just after he-"</p>
<p>It's not possible. Hajime thinks about the voice he hears in his dreams, younger then but- He thinks about the hands he had in his, more calloused now but-  He thinks about those brown eyes, sadder now but- </p>
<p>But. </p>
<p>He looks at Oikawa, really <em>looks. </em>Feels it click into place, the stunned disbelief giving way to- </p>
<p>"You?" He breathes. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. How many Hail Mary's is it going to take?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter title is from Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars which is also the song that sparked this whole series. For this fic's general mood playlist, I have a bunch of songs you can angst to with me on <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7f4bVghqnwXoLaC0tVlFYZ?si=0q8arkZeSTOe9Rg4xDFgfw%E2%80%9D%20rel=">Spotify~</a></p>
<p>Also, sorry this is a bit late, I impulse joined daisuga week on tumblr so I've been alternating between feverishly writing that and feverishly editing this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hajime is caught in a severely outnumbered fight when Oikawa takes a blow and falls. </p>
<p>He falls and Hajime feels his world reel, heave and upend along with him. As he fends off three at once, the tall figure in white and aquamarine crumples at the corner of his eye and doesn't get back up. </p>
<p>
  <em>“You?” The shock is still fresh, even as the knowledge slips easily into place, as though he'd always known, as though it's right. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Not really, not anymore," Oikawa's eyes are unreadable even though his posture is open, relaxed even. Over the muted surprise, Hajime is supremely aware of what he's being handed, how Oikawa has allowed him this playing card.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I don’t understand. Why?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ushiwaka has big plans for this city, Iwa-chan," Oikawa blinks, suddenly looking achingly tired, achingly sad.</em>
</p>
<p>Almost instinctively, his body half turns, heedless of thought or logic, only the blinding, unyielding need to go to Oikawa immediately. </p>
<p>It earns him a hard kick in the kidney that would bring a regular man down, but Hajime is made of stronger stuff than that and with a roar, he snatches the nearest object and makes a brutal swipe, the blood rushing in his ears. His attackers go down and they stay down. </p>
<p>Panting, Hajime distantly registers that he hasn't lost control like that in a fight before, because even though all villains and all heroes are superhuman, Hajime knows his strength is extraordinary even among the gifted. </p>
<p>Most of the time, he wants to apprehend with minimal maiming, not to hurt more than he has to, but not now. Now, there is no rationale, no pulling of punches nor a single shred of care for anyone else in this battle; there is only the static in his ears and the haze at the edges of his vision and the inexplicable fear that mounts and expands in his lungs.</p>
<p>He starts toward Oikawa but is waylaid, again and again and again. Each time he is denied, the urgency triples, and ugly desperation slashes through him, driving every blow, until he is short of simply barrelling his way past friend and foe and everyone in between. Through punches and whirls and turns, Hajime gets glimpses of the Grand King: Oikawa lays where he's been slammed into the wall and doesn't move. </p>
<p><em>Get up</em>, Hajime wants to scream. He’s seen Oikawa take bad hits before, pick himself up and <em>win. </em>But his opponent this time is one of the higher tiered superhumans and while Oikawa is fast on his feet and skilled in his technique, the raw power of his opponent cannot be denied. </p>
<p>
  <em>“He’s of the opinion that those with powers shouldn’t be, as he puts it ‘at the beck and call’ of regular people, that those with powers shouldn’t be dying trying to protect normal folk,” Oikawa's gaze is steely and Hajime is almost relieved to see a familiar fire dancing in them. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Wait, that means-”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Yup, societal upheaval. He wants superhumans as a privileged class - it’s anarchy geared to purely suit superhumans, only worse, he wants regular people as nothing better than slaves.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Unlike the initial revelation, this bomb doesn't leave a soft pleasantness that diffuses from his core. Instead, this crashes into him, leaves him shaken and shell-shocked, stumbling to recover. </em>
</p>
<p>Since certain humans had developed powers, they had cleanly divided into two camps with regular humans as the gamble, the treasure to protect and the victims in this constant struggle between the superhumans. </p>
<p>It was simple, if you were a hero, you had powers you wanted to use for good and if you were a villain, you had powers you wanted to misuse.</p>
<p>And yet, surrounded by cracked concrete and breathing in dust, Hajime is arrested by the unshakable notion that his own ally's power has been grievously misused, that clearly something that had hurt Oikawa was nothing good, that somehow, without his knowledge, the definition of just and unjust has been rewritten. </p>
<p>Air escapes Hajime's lungs in a punched out breath and for a moment, everything seems to happen in slow motion as his world rends itself in a bid to rearrange around Oikawa. </p>
<p>And then he's dropping and rolling, springing up to launch a ruthless string of attacks that force another opponent to where police officers wait with tranquilizers and reinforced handcuffs. </p>
<p>
  <em>“I still don’t see why you had to give up the mantle of Warhammer,” Hajime is aware his tone has turned almost forlorn and he hates it, fights to keep it even. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Because there's no proof," Oikawa hisses, a sudden wash of helplessness and desperation colouring the words. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ushiwaka is sneaky, he’s been planning this for years. There are procedures and facilities in place, not people. The people who implemented them got it done and got out of office fast, there’s no evidence, no one to blame, nothing," Oikawa seems to radiate a fierceness that Hajime normally sees in a fight, and it makes sense now, how this has been his driving force, "Don’t you see? A superhero opposing government policies? It’ll look like a poorly supported rebellion.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“So you gave up being a hero?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Some battles you can’t fight as a hero, Iwa-chan.”</em>
</p>
<p><em>Get up</em>, he pleads in his mind, <em>please get up</em>. Through the numbed movements, red hot anxiety threads through each strike and wraps itself in a cord around his throat, tightening for every second he fails to reach Oikawa. His body moves on autopilot while his mind begs, <em>get up, get up, get up.</em></p>
<p>Oikawa doesn't stir. </p>
<p>. . . </p>
<p>Hajime isn't a religious man, he’s had too much blood on his hands, has seen too much to be.  But nights have him up late, staring at the moving shadows on his wall and making deals with a higher power. </p>
<p>It starts out wary and logical: <em>Is this a test? Is this a game to you?</em></p>
<p>Then it diverges, lashings of desperation settling: <em>Do you know what he’s had to do? Do you know why? </em></p>
<p>Turns angry: <em>You let this happen, you- Do you think just because he calls himself a villain he is what deserves the word? You know he supersedes the judgement of us, of you, you know this. </em></p>
<p>By the time the sky begins to lighten, there's no pride left in him, not in this one way negotiation that has him begging: <em>He carries so much pain. Please, don't give him more, let me- I can- I'll do whatever it takes. </em></p>
<p>. . . </p>
<p>He doesn’t make it to Oikawa in time. </p>
<p>Hajime gets waylaid by a series of what seems like neverending parries and feints that he counters in a manner both outrageously sloppy and brutally powerful, with absolutely no technique, running on auto-pilot and fuelled by sheer, unceasing emotion—it seems to pass in a whirlwind but the next time he looks back at the corner, Oikawa’s slumped figure is gone.</p>
<p>His heart ceases to beat, screeching to what feels like a complete halt before stuttering up into a jackrabbit pace, fear and worry lurching into full-blown panic as he haphazardly scans the battle grounds, desperately casting about for a glimpse of familiar suit or chestnut hair. </p>
<p>Narrowly, he dodges an electric saber slicing past his cheek and clumsily turns to disarm or to defend, he’s not quite sure. In fact, reality itself seems to seize and warp, the figures around him moving in disjointed swings and making muffled noises. </p>
<p>It’s only by muscle memory and survival instinct that he emerges unscathed from that scuffle, staggering slightly as he scours the scene that ripples more for every second he fails to find Oikawa.</p>
<p>For the first time since he started as the Ace, Hajime leaves before the fight fully wraps up, not sparing a nod for his allies nor a backward glance to check if the authorities need their help. He’s already sprinting for home, uncaring of the curious glances he receives as he takes shortcuts he previously avoided due to them being too open. </p>
<p>He misjudges a jump once, mind so preoccupied that the ground makes its approach faster than he anticipated and only a roll saves him from getting seriously hurt. Still, the air gets slammed out of him but he honestly can’t tell if he’s hurt or not, he can’t feel anything but the numbness of his lips and the tingling in his arms that get worse as his mind fashions terrible phantoms of Oikawa in terrifying situations. </p>
<p>Pulling himself to his feet, he keeps running, and doesn’t stop until he gets home. </p>
<p>Nothing. </p>
<p>A half-derisive, half-broken semblance of a laugh escapes him, because did he actually expect that Oikawa would come to his home, to him when he was in danger? <em>Yes, </em>a part of him whispers, <em>yes, I had hoped.</em></p>
<p>His fist clenches and unclenches as he weighs his desire not to pry into Oikawa’s private life against the almost suffocating need to know if Oikawa is safe. Finally, caving, he pulls out his laptop and spends a good ten minutes furiously hammering at the keys, evading firewalls and hacking through layer after layer of security until an address pops out, one that he hastily memorises before wiping the recent activity on his laptop. </p>
<p>Then he’s off again, muscles screaming as he pushes into an unforgiving pace that doesn’t let up until he skids to a halt in front of a clean, fairly nondescript house. </p>
<p>Picking his way past shrubs hugging the walls, he swings himself in through a window, expecting flames or blades the way his house has been booby trapped.</p>
<p>But nothing seems to happen and he lands lightly in the Grand King's house.</p>
<p>He doesn't register the small pinprick of pain in his supporting hand until he's keeling over, vision swimming and floor blending into the ceiling. </p>
<p>Everything goes black. </p>
<p>He wakes up to his head cushioned on something soft and the scent of shampoo.</p>
<p>For a brief moment, he thinks he's on Oikawa's lap, but then the fog lifts and he sees Oikawa sitting across from him, propped up against the back of the armchair. A small knife lies beside him on the floor, gleaming in the low light. </p>
<p>"I could've killed you," Oikawa says, but his voice is wrong, it's weak and breathy, as though there's not enough air in his lungs. </p>
<p>Even in the swathe of dimness, Oikawa seems uncharacteristically wan, his lips pale and his eyelids fluttering every so often, as though struggling to stay open. </p>
<p>"Bullshit," Hajime snorts, hauling himself into a sitting position as he eyes Oikawa, fairly upright but slumping slightly on closer inspection, "You can't even get off the floor."</p>
<p>The fact that Oikawa has no immediate retort scares Hajime more than anything and immediately he's on his knees and shuffling over, fingers tenderly probing Oikawa's head, looking for cracks or blood.</p>
<p>Oikawa twists away like a cat trying to escape being carried, a bemused smile on his lips as he evades Hajime's anxious touch.</p>
<p>"I'm fine, I'm fine, I received medical attention, it was a hard knock but I just need rest," He has one hand batting away Hajime's worried ones in a playful manner but his fingers snag on Hajime's and stop there, held in his grasp, their gazes catch and Hajime can count the faint, nearly invisible freckles on Oikawa's cheekbones. </p>
<p>It's too close and too much, a wild, unfettered sensation rears up and tries to engulf him so Hajime swerves in terror because he's a coward and says the first thing that comes to mind. </p>
<p>"I didn't mean to track you down, but I thought- I thought- Anyway, I only looked at your address, nothing else, I don't even know your name."</p>
<p>There's a silence that makes Hajime want to stab himself with whatever it is on Oikawa's windowsill so he can sink back into sweet oblivion. </p>
<p>Oikawa's face has softened, eyes turning to burnt caramel in that way that Hajime only ever sees when they're alone. He's got a pensive shadow cast over his face but it clears as he smiles - the kind of smile that Hajime sees in his eyes more than his mouth. </p>
<p>"Tooru," Oikawa Tooru says carefully and deliberately, and the look in his eyes is electrifying, corresponding bolts running through Hajime's veins.</p>
<p>“Tooru,” The name folds on Hajime's tongue like sticky candy and tastes like a festival sweet he had in his childhood, full of sugar and nostalgia. </p>
<p>Tooru raises a skeptical brow, “You mean after I barged into your house and told you I know everything about you, you didn’t even bother finding out my first name?”</p>
<p>Hajime weighs his words. </p>
<p>“You’d tell me if you wanted me to know,” He says quietly and then frowns at his hands, missing the flicker of surprise that flies across Tooru’s face, “Wait, what do you mean everything?”</p>
<p>Tooru cackles or tries to but breaks off into coughs. </p>
<p>The insistent fear that tickles the back of his mind gets louder and Hajime opens his mouth to nag or chastise, cut off by Tooru waving a hand with an adamant expression fixed on his face as he tries to take deep breaths that end up as shallow ones instead. </p>
<p>Moving faster than his brain can, Hajime has an arm looped under Tooru's knees and then he's standing, the Grand King neatly cradled in his arms. Tooru may be tall and well-muscled, but Hajime isn't the Ace for nothing and it's with ease that he gathers Tooru up and begins moving further into the house. </p>
<p>Tooru is so silent that for a moment, Hajime thinks something has gone wrong. But a quick glance down shows the patient staring at Hajime wide-eyed and lips parted in surprise. One hand is fisted at Hajime's chest, as though after scrabbling for purchase and finding none due to the skintight suit, it had settled for simply pressing right above Hajime's heart instead. </p>
<p>He wonders if Tooru can feel his heartbeat thundering as he tries to ignore the warmth radiating from the body he's carrying.  </p>
<p>"Where am I going?" He asks as he moves down the corridor. </p>
<p>"Second door on the right," Comes the murmur and Hajime resists the urge to look down at Tooru again, focusing instead on guiding them into the room without rapping an elbow or knee or ankle on the doorframe. </p>
<p>Tooru is set down on the bed so lightly that he doesn't even bounce and then Hajime is fussing with the covers until Tooru laughs and it sounds like a clear spring bubbling over. </p>
<p>"Seriously, Iwa-chan, what are you, my mom?"</p>
<p>"If you weren't so concussed I would hit you," Hajime threatens but there's no bite to it, only fond irritation that bleeds into the way he tugs the pillow so that Tooru's head is properly resting on it. </p>
<p>"It's late," Tooru says softly, and it's a quiet statement like a single candle in a dark room—they both hear what he's really asking.</p>
<p>When Hajime straightens and starts for the door, Tooru's hand reaches out as quick as a viper and catches his sleeve between a thumb and forefinger. </p>
<p>He's resolutely looking at the floor, the stripes on the bedsheets, anywhere but Hajime. He doesn't have to, Hajime knows the look on his face, he can see it even with his eyes closed, he's known Oikawa long enough, he knows this man well enough. </p>
<p>"I'm not going anywhere, dumbass," Hajime sighs, but he doesn't move away and he doesn't shake Tooru off, "I'm just gonna get a first aid kit to clean up before something gets infected."</p>
<p>He watches the long lashes blink as his words filter through and then the thumb and forefinger release, the calloused hand retreating under bedsheets. </p>
<p>"I'll be right back," It's practically inaudible, it's on the cusp of tender and he doesn't know if Tooru hears, but it's escaped him and so he slips out of the room, leaving it there in the darkened space.  </p>
<p>Tooru knows the life he chose leaves no room for emotional attachment, for anything the heart could want, for anyone the heart could want. </p>
<p>But lately he feels as though he's wandered into a storm, as though he'd missed the warning signs of storm clouds and the scent of rain. Or perhaps the way Iwaizumi Hajime had looked at him had been the calm before the thunder and lightning, and Tooru had been blinded by it, lulled into a false sense of security and then caught off guard when the sky opened up to decimate his world. </p>
<p>This emotion slams into him with the force of a gale, knocks him off his feet, out of his comfort zone and then leaves him gasping for air amidst the feelings that pelt his face like raindrops. There's nothing merciful about this desire, this sentiment that he thought himself impervious to. </p>
<p>It tears at his restraint, seems to wash away his thought process, until he’s stripped to a version of him he’d buried away and it’s just him in the raging thunderstorm that is terrifying and thrilling all at once. He wants to hate it, but every moment spent with Iwaizumi Hajime is a lightning strike, brilliant light in the charcoal of the night that has him breathless, feeling the tendrils of electricity race up his spine the way it would unfurl toward the earth. </p>
<p>Tooru knows he should be running for shelter, that the storm will pass and leave him devastated like a land ravaged, but he finds himself tilting his chin to feel the rain on his face, laughing over the thunderclaps, eyes wide and awestruck as they trace the path of lightning. He stays in the middle of the storm and he <em>wants</em>. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay so I wrote this and then realised that Ushijima might sound a bit like Magneto? I'm not 100% sure cause the only movie I've watched in the X men universe is Wolverine (I think) but I've seen snippets on tv and if it sounds like Magneto, it's very unintentional. But! I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing haha so just in case any of you were wondering.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Come on, mess me up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter title is from Come On, Mess Me Up by Cub Sport. For this fic's general mood playlist, I have a bunch of songs you can angst to with me on <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7f4bVghqnwXoLaC0tVlFYZ?si=0q8arkZeSTOe9Rg4xDFgfw%E2%80%9D%20rel=">Spotify~</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's a god-awful crick in his neck and an ache in his back from sleeping more or less upright for the whole night, but Hajime opens his eyes and finds Tooru huddled under a heap of blankets. Safe and well. Every muscle in his body relaxes just a little and it makes the cramps along his spine a bit more bearable.  </p><p>Stretching out the kinks in his body, he pauses for a second at the doorway, wondering how someone so sleek and deadly on the battlefield can look so much like a lover in a Renaissance painting. Those devastatingly full red lips, not pulled into a cold sneer or pressed into a tight line of concentration; those ridiculously long lashes, shadowing to graze his creamy cheeks; the tousled locks of rich brown that Hajime knows smell like coconut and hibiscus. </p><p>It's a dangerous thought and so he ventures out, locates the kitchen and sets about preparing breakfast. In the warm lighting of the kitchen and with the apron on in front of the stove, the scene is painfully domestic, he's aware, and it's even more unfortunate that the notion bundles him further into a sense of ease. </p><p>Because Tooru walks in just as he's sliding the eggs out onto a mound of steaming white rice and he freezes with an expression that Hajime can only label as 'stricken'. </p><p>It's wiped away quickly and Tooru laughs, teases and slides into a seat, but he seems unsettled, eyes constantly darting to Hajime and then around the room as though trying to reconcile both entities. </p><p>It prickles a little and something about it doesn't sit right in Hajime's stomach but breakfast flows on with lighthearted conversation. </p><p>"You should be more careful," Hajime scolds when Tooru stands to do the dishes and then has to sit back down a bit too quickly. </p><p>"I'll be fine," Tooru mutters but it's distant and it doesn't sound like he heard anything Hajime said at all. </p><p>So Hajime pushes. </p><p>"I mean especially in a fight," And he can tell it was the wrong thing to say because the tense look on Tooru's face is back and it's as if all the shields that he had let down come back up with a resounding clang. </p><p>"I can take care of myself," Tooru says stiffly before very pointedly walking to the sink and beginning to wash the dishes, completely poised, not a single sign of weakness. </p><p>Hajime hates it. Because this is the self that Tooru shows to the world, flawless and infallible. He hates the pretence and the polished exterior that hides the Tooru he knows, and he particularly hates that Tooru is pushing him out, sequestering himself away. </p><p>"Then how come you ended up getting so badly injured in battle you couldn't even get out by yourself?" He asks, now with a vein of anger running through his words. </p><p>"Getting hurt is part and parcel of fighting," Although his back is turned, Hajime can imagine Tooru rolling his eyes, "And unlike you, not everyone thinks that arrests are enough for villains."</p><p>Somehow, that flippant nonchalance with which Tooru discusses getting hurt, the casual way he dismisses it, shoves an anvil into Hajime's gut and he wants to shake Tooru until he stops hiding, until he promises he will be careful. </p><p>Instead, he settles for trying to jolt him verbally. </p><p>"Maybe if you weren't so hung up on being a villain instead of a hero, you wouldn't keep getting hurt," Hajime says with a ferocity that he immediately regrets. He had aimed for a low blow, viciously hoping that it would hit hard enough to make Tooru pay attention, but now he desperately wants to snatch the words out of the air and stuff them back into his mouth. </p><p>There's no response as Tooru finishes rinsing off the last plate, he turns off the tap and without the rushing sound of water, there's a ringing silence. He swivels to face Hajime and his eyes are steely, his expression hard and completely unreadable. </p><p>"Maybe if you stopped trying to be so much like Warhammer and focused on being yourself, you'd be a better hero," Tooru snaps. For a split second, his mask of anger drops to reveal surprise, as though even he is taken aback by what he said. But he's Tooru, so he sticks to his guns and yanks the livid look back on stubbornly.  </p><p>They've had more savage exchanges while striking and blocking but somehow, when it's in the quiet of a home, in the space between just the two of them, each word slams in with unprecedented ruthlessness. He might have been the one who prodded Tooru into this in the first place, but the words sting all the same, burning like a fresh wound.  </p><p>"Fine," He bites out and turns, stomping out of the front door. </p><p>From behind him, the sound of a plate smashing against the wall punctuates the mid-morning air. </p><p>Hajime keeps walking.</p><p>. . .</p><p>Hajime knows who it is the second he hears the tiny beep and muted click as the door unlocks. After all, there's only one other person who has access to his house. </p><p>So he isn't all that surprised when Tooru slips in trailing the scent of morning dew and soft early light. He's dressed as though this is all part of a casual stroll by, in faded jeans and a dark hoodie, the hood up and hiding him from the world. Hajime stays where he is, crouched to replace the water in Captain's bowl. </p><p>Tooru shuts the door gently behind him before padding soundlessly to the counter, so quiet he might as well be gliding. It's only when he catches sight of Hajime, huddled and motionless like a gargoyle on a cathedral top that he startles, the hood falling off to reveal glossy locks and a pale face—if possible, the grip he has on the box in his hands tightens even more. </p><p>"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" He hisses as though he's not the one sneaking into other people's houses with suspicious packages. </p><p>Hajime arches a brow and then stands slowly, gaze steady and unwavering until Tooru breaks first, snapping away to stare at the floor instead. A burst of triumph at this petty victory surges but it mingles with the dark chocolate bittersweetness of seeing Tooru again, knowing that he’s alright. A weightless pause as the air between them fills with the small, brisk chirps of birds and the murmur of a neighbourhood waking up on a lazy Saturday morning. </p><p>He half expects Tooru to plaster on an overly bright smile and chirp something airy and banal that completely masks what he truly wants to say. </p><p>Instead, Tooru shoves the box at him, proffering the pale brown surface and sharp edges as an olive branch of sorts. </p><p>Hajime takes it. There's evident care that's gone into it, he notes as his calloused hand smooths over waxy paper material and catches on the red ribbon that encircles it.  </p><p>Tugging at one end that boasts a tiny bell, the ribbon gives way and Hajime uncovers six round dusted mochis, fat, perfect and nestled in the box. </p><p>"What-" The words barely depart Hajime's lips when Tooru barrels through with a barrage of words, refusing to look up from his hands. </p><p>"Iwa-chan is so fussy, whenever I come over, he only has one dessert in the house so I figured mochi must be your favourite. I- I wasn't very nice so I'm here to sweeten you up with some <em>daifuku</em>! These three are filled with red bean and these three are white bean," He points them out with a long, slender finger. </p><p>"You made me <em>daifuku</em>," Hajime says slowly, in case he's misunderstood in the rush of Tooru's speech. </p><p>"Yes," Tooru glances up tentatively, blinks at the expression on Hajime's face and looks a bit hopeful. </p><p>"You noticed I only eat mochi so you <em>made</em> mochi for me," Hajime repeats, because he knows even with technology, <em>daifuku </em>is not easy to make and just because they had a disagreement? They've literally been at each other's throats, punched each other, thrown each other into walls but for a few sharp words, Tooru is making mochi? Hell, they've probably gotten each other sent to hospital more times than he can count. </p><p>"Yes, Iwa-chan," Tooru replies, beginning to look peevish, "Just eat the damn mochi so I know you're not still mad at me."</p><p>Gingerly, Hajime picks one out of the box, careful not to disturb the rest and bites into it. </p><p>It's perfect. There's just the right amount of resistance before the sticky rice dough yields to present ample red bean paste. It beats the store bought mochi sitting in his freezer hands down. </p><p>He finishes it, relishing the chewy softness of the exterior, complemented by the smooth paste within, before holding the box out to Tooru. </p><p>"I'm not mad at you if you're not mad at me. We both said some shit that we didn't mean," And he wonders if he imagines the way an almost invisible line of tension disappears from Tooru's stance, "These are fantastic. Now take one so I know we're good."</p><p>A tiny smile creeps onto Tooru's face as he maneuvers a mochi out and bites into it, widening into a beaming grin as he chews. </p><p>"You're right," He murmurs, "These <em>are</em> fantastic. My talent is wasted on you, Iwa-chan, I can't believe my virgin <em>daifuku</em> making experience was stolen by you!” He pulls a mock hurt face, eyes wide and indignant, bottom lip jutting just so. Hajime’s initial urge to hit him dies out with the second thought that surfaces.</p><p>“You’ve never made this before?” He asks, helping himself to another because they’re delightful and Hajime wants to believe that this is more than just mochi, that these are more than just passing emotions. </p><p>“No,” Tooru drops the act, his face easing into a relaxed look that’s tired but content, and he slow blinks as the edges of his lips tilt up just the slightest, “It took a few tries to get it right but I <em>am</em> a domestic god, after all, so it worked out nicely in the end.”</p><p>A couple of realisations slam into Hajime like a freight train and for a moment he stalls as they distill through his consciousness, the way an espresso shot splices through the stark white of milk in a cup. </p><p>“Is this why you didn’t show up for Tuesday’s fight?” Hajime asks disbelievingly, his hand halfway to his mouth with the second bite of that mochi. </p><p>“I had a prior engagement,” Tooru says archly, and holds his haughty expression for all of five seconds before he meets Hajime’s knowing one and the two crumple - Tooru into a bright, somewhat bashful grin that almost blinds Hajime, and Hajime into a chuckle that he hides, tucking it into his shoulder.</p><p>They look back at each other—they seem to always do—and the moment slips into something weighted, like honey sliding off the edge of a spoon. </p><p>Here, the mid-morning sunshine slated through the kitchen blinds throws patterns onto Tooru, dappling his features. But shadow or light, Hajime thinks that after the past few months, he would know this man anywhere. </p><p>There's a look that Tooru has that makes Hajime want to turn tail and run, and get closer at the same time, it's exhilarating and terrifying and it raises a simmer, low in Hajime's belly until he can practically feel the heat creeping up his neck. Tooru has it on now, and it's killing Hajime not to move, any longer and he'll break, any longer and Hajime will either bolt or take a step forward he can never take back. He's not sure which one scares him more. </p><p>As though a switch is thrown, Tooru abruptly turns playful and while that brief scorching lapse seems to be over, Hajime still feels it thrumming in his veins. </p><p>Caramel eyes dancing, Tooru darts out and steals the last bit of mochi from Hajime’s fingers, and Hajime gets a taste of his own medicine as the brush of soft lips against fingertips sends tingles up his arm, over his shoulder and down the length of his spine. </p><p>“The glutinous rice dough was a bitch to get right, it was too watery or too hard the first few times,” Tooru admits, still chewing, then he steps into Hajime’s space and shoots him a look from underneath his lashes that makes Hajime’s hold on the box go slack. He surreptitiously stretches and sets it down on the nearest countertop as Tooru edges in just a little more, gaze deliberately skittering across Hajime’s jaw, lips and settling back on his eyes, “It was worth it though, to see your face when you bit into it.”</p><p>Then he skips back, but the charge in the air is not so quick to withdraw and neither is the all-consuming bonfire that's crackling within Hajime.</p><p>Hajime slips his fingers through Tooru's belt loops and tugs him back in, hazel eyes blazing and conflicted, the same kind of struggle that Tooru knows, has worked through in the quiet of sleepless nights. </p><p>Tooru has considered this possibility because he never leaves anything to chance, never is caught unawares, always has a plan. He discarded the likelihood of this long ago and even so, he knows the route to take at this crossroads. </p><p>But he's never accounted for the hollow of Hajime's throat and the heat of his gaze, he's entirely unprepared for the way Hajime's gentle fingers singe his skin through the fabric of his pants, the way sunlight filters through clouds to dance across sharp jaw and the taut, lean lines of Hajime’s physique. </p><p>"Tell me I'm reading this wrong," Hajime rasps, "Tell me you don't want this."</p><p><em>We can't. I shouldn't. This is madness</em>. </p><p>The breeze curls around them, the only movement in the stillness and it smells like rain.</p><p>"You're not," Tooru breathes, "I do." </p><p>And he's surging forward, lips finding Hajime's mouth hot and wanting, open and heady. There's a sense of desperation that laces through their kisses, as though they're afraid that if they think too hard or break apart long enough, they'll remember who they are, why they shouldn't, can't. </p><p>Hajime's lips are sticky from the dough and when Tooru licks into his mouth, he can taste the residual sweetness from the bean paste, like ambrosia - nectar fit for the gods, except there are no gods here, just Hajime, only Hajime. A pair of fingers, still bearing traces of the mochi's white powder, grasp Tooru's chin as the kiss deepens and turns hungry, pulling them into a riptide that threatens to drown them both.</p><p><em>Nothing could have prepared me for this</em>, Tooru thinks vaguely as Hajime's hands brand the skin of his sides like hot iron, <em>nothing will be the same again.</em> It's like drowning in a waterfall, knowing that the ground is solidly under you and yet, finding no air. </p><p>When a pair of strong arms lift and seat him on the kitchen counter, Tooru finally pulls back, eyes gleaming and dark. </p><p>“So impatient, Iwa-chan,” He laughs breathlessly even as he tugs off Hajime’s shirt, hands skimming over tan skin, marvelling over the flex of a bicep, “Can’t even make it into the bedroom?”</p><p>He gasps as Hajime nips at his throat, knowing that Hajime can feel the muscles under his roving hands tense and relax. With a sudden pull, he’s yanked forward so that his thighs frame Hajime’s waist, their hips flush against each other’s and Hajime leans in, lips brushing against Tooru’s. </p><p>“We’re not going to make it to the bedroom," He murmurs, interspersing the words with kisses that are fleeting and intense, a hard press of lips that hint at a barely restrained desire bubbling just beneath the surface, "We're not even going to make it off this countertop. But when we're done, we can adjourn there and then you’re going to sleep because you look like death."</p><p>One more kiss, this time turning languid instead with Hajime tilting his head and one hand cradling the back of Tooru's neck. It feels as though there are flowers blooming under his touch, Tooru feels sparks and colours and <em>alive</em> with the move of Hajime's lips and the heat of his mouth. </p><p>“And then when you wake up, we’re going to test the soundproofing of my house starting with the bedroom," Hajime tells him as he breaks the kiss, his voice rough and his breaths uneven.</p><p>Unconsciously chasing Hajime's lips, Tooru blinks, dazed and processing. Then the moment unpauses and his hands are reaching for Hajime’s waistband while he gets to work leaving little keepsakes on Hajime's collarbone.</p><p>Part of him wants to believe that he'll regret this, but he knows that come what may, he will not, he cannot. </p><p>Hajime wants to etch this into his brain, wants to commit the flush that paints Tooru from cheeks to chest, to memory, every wrecked sound he makes, the way he looks laid out and throat bared, unafraid of Hajime. </p><p>For weeks after, months after, he won't be able to shake the scent of Tooru's skin, just a hint of it will be enough to drive him wild. Now it's just the curve of Tooru's cheek and the pucker of this scar, the dip of his back and the muscles in his thighs. </p><p>"Let me…" He chokes out at some point. </p><p>He doesn't expect Tooru to prop himself up on his elbows, looking so dishevelled it makes him want to ravish him all the more. </p><p>"Let you what?" Tooru's lips are bruised and his broad shoulders beg for Hajime to run his hands over them, to plant kisses along their length.</p><p>
  <em>Let me hold you. Let me protect you. Let me love you. </em>
</p><p>"Let me worship you," He breathes and Tooru's pupils dilate until his eyes are nearly obsidian as he pushes up to meet Hajime, cradling his face. </p><p>"Hajime," It's delivered in a tone never used before, Tooru has never looked this radiant and Hajime is lost. He doesn't know where they are, which part of the house this is, doesn't know who they are or what day it is. All he knows is Tooru, Tooru, Tooru. </p><p>It's only much later, when Tooru is pliant and curled into Hajime and so heavy Hajime thinks he must be asleep when the hushed words come. </p><p>"I didn't mean to say that about you, it wasn't true, I was just being cruel," Tooru sighs, the words broken up by a yawn that cannot be stifled. </p><p>"I know," Hajime strokes the brown strands wisping at Tooru's temples, "You don't have to say it, I know."</p><p>"Had to make sure, had to-," Tooru mutters and appears to drop into deep slumber mid-sentence. Only then does Hajime allow himself to press a kiss to Tooru's forehead and drape an arm over him, tugging him in as though Hajime can protect him this way. </p><p>. . .</p><p>Tooru almost always leaves before morning and Hajime becomes accustomed to the jarring reality of a bed that is suddenly too wide, suddenly untraversable, a massive ocean of sheets and pillows. Despite his extraordinary hearing and adamance to stay awake, he falls asleep with a hand buried in soft brown locks and wakes to nothing but empty space.</p><p>But the times when Hajime wakes before Tooru has the chance to steal away, he realizes that waking to nothing might be better than this. </p><p>Than finding Tooru as a silhouette in dawn hues, in a shirt and nothing else, curled up on a windowsill. He doesn't seem to hear Hajime and his head tilts, leaning, watching the world illuminate itself, one hand idly stroking Captain who loafs on his lap. It's with a drowning sensation that Hajime realises that Tooru belongs in this picture frame, that this feels <em>right</em> and that Hajime wants this to be the norm rather than an outlying occurrence. </p><p>Than the night Hajime wakes to Tooru sitting on the edge of the bed, motionless and with tear tracks that catch the light and glint in the dark. He doesn't try to wipe them off, just envelopes Tooru from the back, face pressed to the crook of his neck, arms gentle around his waist and they sit in the dark. And in the dark, they are just flesh and bone, just blood and salt water, just them. A soft kiss turns into something a little deeper, a little more desperate, and when Hajime presses him into the sheets for the second time that night, he's more tender than he's ever been, gentler than he ever believed he could be.</p><p>Than opening his eyes to a solid, comforting warmth beside him, and in the darkness lit by moonlight and the residual glow of the streetlamps outside, propping himself up on one elbow and wondering just what the hell he was doing. </p><p>Than thinking, <em>How cruel</em>, <em>that his cheekbones are so delicate. How cruel that I must know this, and the curve of his nose and the fragrance of his skin. How cruel that I cannot unlearn it. </em></p><p>Than closing his eyes as though every feature of Tooru's hasn't already been seared into his brain, the feel of him memorised by his hands, his lips, as though barring sight would grant respite.  </p><p>In the morning, when he wakes, Tooru is gone. </p><p>Hajime wants to believe that the gaping sense of loss is better than confronting the devastating swell of emotion that rises and falls with Tooru's comings and goings. </p><p>But like the tide coming in, the reality of what this is and what they are ebbs in, gradually but inevitably. So stealthily that they don't notice until the water is too high, until it's lapping at their necks. </p><p>. . .</p><p>"Iwa-chan."</p><p>Hajime's guard goes up because something is wrong from the lilt of Tooru's tongue, from the way his name sits in his lover's mouth. </p><p>He grunts to show he's listening and flicks a look over, but continues brushing Captain's fur as his traitor cat snuggles up to Tooru.</p><p>"In a week," Tooru forges on with a placid tone even though he fidgets with the thread at the hem of the blanket, "There's going to be an explosion at Shiratorizawa's main building. Don't go."</p><p>Hajime uses the brush to scratch a particularly itchy spot under Captain's chin, "An explosion is going to draw the authorities, and they're bound to call heroes. Even if I don't go, someone else will."</p><p>"Then let someone else go," Tooru insists and this time Hajime does put the brush down because there's a hairline fracture in Tooru's speech and it's developing into a niggling worry at the base of his sternum. </p><p>"Tooru," He sighs, and he can't help but let a note of worry seep in, "What's going to happen?"</p><p>"Nothing," Tooru maintains stubbornly, "Just promise me you'll stay away."</p><p>"No," Hajime replies mulishly, "Tell me."</p><p>"Why?" Tooru's voice begins rising almost too quickly, "I don't owe you anything, I don't need to give you an explanation, who are you to demand anything from me?" The tone he uses is sharp, cutting through the thin veneer of domesticity. </p><p>"You don't owe me anything but I just want to know that you'll be safe doing God knows what this time!" Hajime's anger easily displaces hurt, turning bruised feelings into flares of temper and Captain slinks away, eager to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. </p><p>"Nothing I do is your business," Tooru hisses, "So stop acting as though you care about me."</p><p>"The fuck?" Hajime snarls, because Tooru's words are flat and ugly, and like razors they leave bleeding crescents on him, "Why are you acting like this-" He gestures between them, "-doesn't exist?"</p><p>“Because we’re on borrowed time!” The words tear out of Tooru, but it feels as though he's reached over and ripped them out of Hajime's chest himself. Tooru slips out of his reach, slides off the bed and rises, holding a pale, shaking hand up to his head. </p><p>“None of this makes sense,” Tooru continues, backing away, putting space between them that Hajme doesn’t know how to begin crossing, “We’re not- Don’t you understand? You’re you and I’m me, this wasn’t ever supposed to happen.”</p><p>“Wait-” But Tooru isn’t waiting, isn’t listening, his brown eyes are like glass, a brittle smile on his face and he keeps going. </p><p>“You think I don’t know that something like this has an expiry date?,” Tooru says lowly, his voice trembles slightly but his gaze is piercing, boring into Hajime and he feels himself splinter under it, “That we’ve crossed it the moment we started so that every second with you is one second I’m not supposed to have, is time that we snatch, we loan, we fabricate from thin air.”</p><p>“It’s not ours and it’s going to run out sooner or later.”</p><p>Tooru starts to laugh, a hollow sound that Hajime wants to flinch at but can't. A laugh that treads the line between a manic forced sound and a sob, the grin trespassing into a grimace and eyes too bright. </p><p>Hajime has sustained injuries of almost every kind, has been shot, stabbed, burned, has had his life seem to seep out of him in bright red blood, but nothing has ever come close to hurting like this. Nothing has ever reached into him and wrenched out his beating heart, nothing has ever hurt like watching Oikawa Tooru in pain. </p><p>"Tooru-" Hajime tries to hold on to Tooru, hands barely grazing arms before Tooru jerks himself away so violently it feels like a physical blow. </p><p>"Don't," It's scarcely audible but lethal all the same, like the cold steel of a blade pressed to your throat, before the killing blow is delivered, "Touch me."</p><p>And Tooru sweeps out of the room, not even bothering to locate his shirt, just throwing on a jacket and leaving Hajime struggling to find his footing in a pit of quicksand. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Let's go out in flames so everyone knows who we are</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter title is from Silhouette by Aquilo. For this fic's general mood playlist, I have a bunch of songs you can angst to with me on <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7f4bVghqnwXoLaC0tVlFYZ?si=0q8arkZeSTOe9Rg4xDFgfw%E2%80%9D%20rel=">Spotify~</a></p>
<p> TW: Mentions of violence!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hajime wakes up with a grogginess that he can't shake, the way it feels to sleep at the wrong time and wake up out of cycle, the heaviness clouding his mind and weighting his bones. </p>
<p>It sits with him all day, angular and out of place, jabbing into him as he tries to shove it into a corner and go about his routine.</p>
<p>But it lingers and so, Hajime moves with lead in his bones and blocks punches sluggishly, processes his colleagues' chatter a second too late, as though his world has slowed down in pace with the beat of his heart. </p>
<p>Each thump in his chest seems slower to come than the one before, just a flimsy tie to keep him anchored to this plane of existence while his mind endlessly loops the wretched expression on Tooru's face, the anguish in his voice, the words that clawed their way inside his brain and left bleeding trails where they paced up and down in a frenzy. </p>
<p>The thing, the creature that is truth, that had been cloistered away in a dark cupboard had finally caught up with them, and now, Hajime is facing it down alone. </p>
<p>
  <em>What am I doing? What are we doing? Where do we go from here?</em>
</p>
<p>He ponders these questions on the way to work and they worm their way in mid-fight, they press their weight on him as he drifts to sleep and tighten their hold every morning when he wakes. </p>
<p>And yet, he finds no answer. Or perhaps the answer lies in the ache in his gut and the bitterness twisting in his heart, in the long days and even longer nights.  </p>
<p>Tooru doesn't come to his house, loitering in the shadows outside or making himself comfortable inside. He's nowhere to be found but Hajime sees him all the same, in the recesses of the houses opposite and in the kitchen looking for snacks; on the couch with Captain on his lap; in bed, shoulder bare and toes curling in the sheets. </p>
<p>Illusion or hallucination, Hajime catches a phantom snatch of him in the throes of a fight. A flash of what he thinks is white suit and brown hair blurs at the corner of his eye, dodging and darting. But by the time he deals with the buffoon he's occupied with and gets to look around, the battlefield is only full of strangers in masks.  </p>
<p>
  <em>This wasn’t ever supposed to happen.</em>
</p>
<p>The blast occurs barely a week later, as Tooru had said, and although Hajime is nowhere near the building, he hears it, feels it reverberate through his chest, fine tremors in his ribcage like a quiver in his breastbone. </p>
<p>
  <em>Just promise me you'll stay away. </em>
</p>
<p>He's off at a run before he can even think about it, as if the past few nights and days of ceaseless asking and musing and agonising have amalgamated in this; an instinctive decision that resonates with every slap of his feet against the pavement. </p>
<p>No clue what he's going towards, only that Tooru is there; no plan for how to handle this, only that he must somehow get through to Tooru. Hajime reviews the mental blueprint he has of Shiratorizawa's main building and quickly determines his entry and exit points, where the security cameras probably are and where the guards are likely to be stationed. </p>
<p>Then he plunges himself into insanity. </p>
<p>For one of the first few times in his life, Hajime expands every single iota of his power, he puts his back into throwing a heavy steel door and takes out a single unit, hears the bullet leave the gun chamber and dodges it before it even comes close—every fibre of his being is pushed to the limit because Tooru had been trying to keep him from something dangerous, which meant Tooru was likely alone, in that very situation he had tried to keep Hajime out of. </p>
<p>The Ace of Seijoh crashes through the defenses of Shiratorizawa with a heavy-handed kind of brutality, the strength of a battering ram and the desperation of a man with something to lose. </p>
<p>After a while, he loses track of the number of people he's taken out, time is reduced to the assailant in front of him and the blow that he deals out. He makes it through to the inner layers of the facility, closer to the heart of it than he thought he would get but it's not enough. </p>
<p><em>I need to get closer, I need to get to h- </em>Blunt and incredibly solid, something slams into his head and he drops like a stone. </p>
<p>. . . </p>
<p>Pain runs like a river through Hajime, there's something thick and viscous on the side of his face and from the way it's sticky and drying, he can guess that it's blood. </p>
<p>He opens the eye that isn't half sealed shut with a swelling bruise and isn't even surprised at the way his heart stutters in his chest when Tooru steps out next to Ushijima. </p>
<p>There's a brief clutch of panic wherein Hajime performs a quick scan of Tooru, checking for wounds or signs of hurt, and that moment is a terrifying second stretched like spun glass and ending in absurd relief at seeing Tooru alright. </p>
<p>Hajime strains at the chains that lock him to the wooden chair, testing the metal links, and blinks around the airless warehouse that's stained grey even though he knows it's only noon. </p>
<p>When he's swept the premises, he trains his gaze back on Tooru and Ushijima, taking in the smooth, unfeeling mask the villain wears and the fire in the eyes of his lover. </p>
<p>For a moment, he wishes he didn't know Tooru so well. He wishes that Tooru was fickle enough to switch sides and work with Ushijima, that he would easily dispose of his goal, his values, and make the jump to where the tide is not difficult to turn and the road is not treacherous. </p>
<p>Hajime is selfish in this. He wants for Tooru to be safe and alive and not fighting for a cause that ends with him in a villain's lair alone. </p>
<p>But he knows Oikawa Tooru, he knows Warhammer and he knows the Grand King. This is the man who has turned the whole city against him for the sake of protecting it, who bears the brunt of misdirected blame only for it to shore up against the solitude that he wears like a cloak. </p>
<p>"This is easy, Oikawa," Ushijima's voice rings out, maddeningly calm and nonchalant, "Kill the Ace and you can have access to the plans you wanted. Perhaps without a hero pestering you and with the plans as a crutch, you'll finally catch up to me."</p>
<p>Abruptly, Hajime is tired of it all—of bargains and rules, of 'either's and 'or's.</p>
<p>"Why don't you just join forces?" Hajime doesn't realize the words have been rasped out in his voice until everyone is looking at him strangely and he shrugs as much as he can in his restraints. He doesn't look at Tooru, won't look at him, but he can imagine the expression on his face anyway. </p>
<p>Then Ushijima laughs, which is truthfully quite creepy, but it's an honest-to-god chuckle that scares Hajime more than anything else in this situation. </p>
<p>"You don't know," It's not a question, it's a statement and although Ushijima addresses him, he's looking at Tooru, who's so tense that the air around him vibrates like violin strings.  </p>
<p>"There's nothing else he needs to know," Tooru grits out, rigid and radiating barely contained rage, threat lined in every word. His entire being is ratcheted up to peak animosity in a manner that Hajime has only seen once or twice and it only spurs Hajime on, out of fear or curiosity or a hideous mixture of both.  </p>
<p>"What don't I know?" Hajime demands, the slow, sinking feeling in his stomach outweighing the various bruises and lacerations that decorate his body, as if the corporeal anticipates the answer, pre-empting the blow. </p>
<p>"Oikawa is not a real superhuman. He has no power," Ushijima announces, so blasé he could have been doing the weather forecast, "He's a regular human, so he would never approve of my plans despite being extremely useful and capable for someone so disadvantaged."</p>
<p>The ceiling seems to swoop and turn concave as a roaring fills Hajime's ears in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries. </p>
<p>As though in the aftermath of an explosion, a high keening fills Hajime's consciousness and all he can hear or feel is each ragged breath that his body forces him to pull in. Ushijima is still talking, he can see his lips moving, but there's just no sound, only static. </p>
<p>"That's not possible," Is all he manages to say faintly, trying to catch Tooru's eye and failing, which is more affirmation than anything Tooru can say right now. </p>
<p>"But you hold your own in fights," He murmurs, his brain pulling out sequence after sequence of Tooru trouncing superhuman heroes. </p>
<p>"Oikawa has trained tirelessly," Ushijima intones while Tooru rolls his eyes. </p>
<p>"I modify my suits to give me the extra boosts I need, with amped up defence and so on," Tooru's voice is flat, almost monotonous in a way that Hajime recognises as panicked overcompensation, striving for cool despite the fear and insecurity that lurk underneath. </p>
<p>"No," Hajime's gasping now, the air in the warehouse thinning rapidly for him, "No. You hear better than me."</p>
<p>Tooru's face is carved marble, perfectly set to look untouchable and smug even at the mercy of Ushijima, but his eyes cannot lie. And those sad brown eyes hold an ocean of grief as he tilts his head ever so slightly and extracts from his ear the most miniscule, transparent gadget Hajime has ever seen. </p>
<p>"Hearing enhancers," Tooru carefully sets it back in the curve of his ear, but he's so quiet now that Hajime can barely register it over the buzzing in his head. </p>
<p>If Hajime disliked the notion of Tooru getting hurt before, he loathes it now, abhors it. Every single blow he's dealt against Tooru comes rushing back in a sickening montage, even if he knows the other man is fine, that he bounced back and has taken his own precautions, Hajime cannot help but feel each strike he's made against Tooru rain down on him in some kind of mental and emotional karma. No physical pain can compare to the wretched sensation of knowing he could have seriously harmed Tooru, that he must have at some point, and the guilt nearly compromises him. </p>
<p>"So," Ushjima continues, as though he hasn't just decimated Hajime with a simple truth, as though his mind isn't screaming <em>I should have known</em>, "Oikawa is unfortunately quite incapacitated-"</p>
<p>"What," Hajime wheezes, and then forces air into his lungs, pushing it out like wind from a bellows working overtime, "What?"</p>
<p>Interrupted, Ushijima turns to Hajime with a vaguely quizzical expression, one that could either be due to the fact that no one usually interrupts him or that suggests he suspects Hajime needs the crushing reality spelt out for him in more explicit terms. </p>
<p>"Are you- Are we living in the same dimension?" Hajime plows on, ignoring the minute alarm that sends Tooru a step forward, "Are we talking about the same person? How can you say he's- How dare you even imply he's anything lemmpfh-"</p>
<p>With one hand pressed firmly over Hajime's mouth, Tooru flutters a hand at Ushijima while giving Hajime a look that clearly tells him to shut up. </p>
<p>"Must be too much blood loss, the poor chap doesn't know what he's saying," Tooru manages a false chuckle and clamps his hand down further on Hajime's face. </p>
<p>“It is possible,” Ushijima concedes, “Although I doubt the Ace of Seijoh is truly that weak, nevertheless, I am pressed for time. Quickly kill him and get it over with, we will be able to move on and perhaps you can become a worthy adversary after all.”</p>
<p>He hands Tooru a gun as he speaks, a sleek one that looks like a semi-automatic, but is no doubt upgraded into something far more deadly, and gestures at Hajime with all the grace of someone inviting a guest to begin their meal. </p>
<p>The metallic exterior stares back at Tooru for a long pause and Hajime counts the beats of his heart until the hand that covers his mouth leaves to grasp the weapon in both hands as Tooru thumbs down the hammer to cock it. Then he raises the gun to Hajime’s forehead, his face expressionless. </p>
<p>Hajime's gut instinct is to fight, to survive and almost immediately, it's overridden by his own mind. By the sound of Tooru's laughter and the wit in his sharp retorts, the feel of his hands and the scent of his skin. He remembers his own sleepless nights, his own bargains and his own endless questioning. </p>
<p><em>I'll do whatever it takes.</em> </p>
<p>He catches Tooru’s eyes and finds he cannot read them, but he doesn't look away, unblinking and unfaltering as he leans forward just the slightest bit, pressing his skin into the cold muzzle. The grip on the gun tightens slightly, but Tooru's face doesn't change. Hajime may not be able to know what Tooru is thinking but he’s absolutely certain Tooru can read him now. It’s not a challenge, nor a rebuke, but an offer, a comfort. </p>
<p>
  <em>One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three.</em>
</p>
<p>It's only a split second that the veil enshrouding the man he knows lifts, but Tooru is already moving — and Hajime’s body moves with him. It’s as though years of engaging in combat, months of learning and re-learning Tooru has made it so that Hajime’s body has memorised him in a way that the mind cannot.</p>
<p>So when Tooru swings the gun and shoots at the guard closest to them, Hajime’s body reacts without even thinking, his muscles recognising Tooru’s body language even before his mind can catch up. </p>
<p>With a snarl, he explodes from his restraints, finding one end of the broken chain and slinging it into a guard before strangling another with it. Beside him Tooru has already abandoned the gun, having exhausted its contents and there’s a deadly crack as he slams someone into the floor, pivoting on their body to land a powerful kick on another. </p>
<p>Panting, his head throbbing, Hajime braces for Ushijima’s attack only to see him slipping away while speaking into a headset, and seconds later a hollow clang echoes as the gates of the warehouse are left to slam shut. </p>
<p>Fighting alongside Tooru instead of against him is a ridiculously easy transition, both have studied each other’s skillset, have exchanged so many blows that their fight patterns, tells and style have been deeply ingrained in the other. </p>
<p>Hajime elbows a man just under Tooru's outstretched arm and then smoothly ducks as Tooru shoots exactly where his head had been. One crouches to reload while the other delivers a kick over him and they resume, back to back and always remaining in a tight orbit around each other. </p>
<p>As it turns out, they’re a devastating combination and the team of guards abandoned by Ushijima fall more quickly than expected. A victory far too slick to be handled, it slides through their fingers and out of their grasp.</p>
<p>The tramping of boots outside and the mechanical clicks of weapons being armed tell him that the reinforcements Ushijima called is more than tenfold whatever he initially brought. He attempts to wheel around and follow the sound but pain lances through Hajime’s head and his knees buckle, forcing him to the cold cement. </p>
<p>In a rush of material and a clatter of a weapon being flung to the floor, Tooru skids to his side on his knees, hands coming up as though to touch and then recoiling as though unsure if he's allowed to. </p>
<p>“We’re surrounded. Ushijima knew, he <em>knew</em> and he's probably outside waiting to ambush us with his trillions of soldiers and get rid of us both,” Tooru's voice cracks and he chokes, “I told you to stay away. I told you-”</p>
<p>Hajime pulls him into a tight hug, the rest of the words getting muffled in his shoulder and he feels Tooru break a little, shuddering breaths running through his body. Then he lifts a face that has distress in every line and brings a shaking hand up to Hajime’s bloodied cheek. </p>
<p>“It’s okay if it’s just me,” He whispers, “But not you, I can’t let you-.”</p>
<p>“Stop. There’s no you or me,” Hajime returns, giving Tooru a small but firm shake, “We’re making it out and we’re making it out together.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” Tooru swallows and briefly shuts his eyes, a single tear trailing to his chin before it joins the blood on the floor, “Why would you damn yourself for this, for me?”</p>
<p>And just like that, the answer he's been groping for slides into place with his next inhale, settling into his bones as though it had always meant to be there. </p>
<p>"Because," Hajime places one immeasurably gentle finger under Tooru's chin, his thumb coming in a small motion to brush the side of Tooru's trembling jaw, "You're not a villain and I'm not a hero. You're just you and I'm just me." </p>
<p>Tooru blinks rapidly as repurposed fragments of his own words echo back at him, and his eyebrows pull together in a bereft draw, his throat bobbing but no words coming. Then he gathers himself, Hajime can see his armour falling back into place with a press of his lips and the smoothening of his face. It's almost too devastating for Hajime to bear. </p>
<p>"Shut up, you're the Ace of Seijoh," Tooru scoffs, already drawing himself up stronger and better and ready for another day, another battle. Just as he has, alone, for the past seven years. He untangles himself from Hajime’s embrace, looking over at the battered gates as his chin lifts and his shoulders square. </p>
<p>"I'll be your ace," The words trip out of Hajime's mouth and time halts around them as Tooru slowly turns to look at Hajime who meets his look of belated surprise evenly. </p>
<p>"You're just you and I'm just me," Hajime repeats firmly, a smile threatening to break out despite the tension, because this makes the blood sing in his veins, this is what makes his breathing come easy, "We're fighting for the same thing so I'll fight for you."</p>
<p>Tooru's breath catches and a helpless smile appears, it’s an automatic response for Hajime’s lips to curve to mirror it. This will be different from the promise he made himself when he first took up the mantle as the Ace, different from every other oath he's taken. </p>
<p>"We won't be hero and villain, you'll just be my King and I'll be your Ace," Hajime reaches out a hand to cup Tooru's face and almost instinctively, Tooru leans into the touch, lashes lowering as his lips part for a stuttering breath, "We'll just be Oikawa and Iwaizumi, partners."</p>
<p>His voice has lowered to a whisper by the end but he knows Tooru has heard every word. He waits patiently for an answer, feels the soft skin underneath his palm, and he doesn't move an inch, he knows Tooru will close the gap if he so chooses. </p>
<p>"No take-backs," Tooru warns, but his voice is shaky and his brown eyes are lit, a glow that illuminates his face as he stands, grasping Hajime's hand to pull him up as well. </p>
<p>With a single tug, Hajime has Tooru close, an arm around his waist and his forehead gently resting on Tooru's. He can feel the sweat dampening Tooru's brow, can see the sweep of his lashes as their noses threaten to touch. </p>
<p>"Never," He whispers fiercely, and it's a promise he'll make again and again, in any world and any lifetime. </p>
<p>Weapons in hand and side by side, the old metal groans as they step out into the blinding sunlight. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We made it! Thank you so much for sticking with me as this AU took me by storm, for reading and offering your support and for indulging in these two with me. I hope you liked it~</p>
<p>All my love and gratitude to @thewhiskingpot who encouraged me to write the first in this series (Don't be a hero) and held me accountable so I actually wrote it HAHHA this series would not have been birthed without you. &lt;3</p>
<p>Edit: Now with <a href="https://cvabent.tumblr.com/post/632088931152936960/fanart-for-redroseinsanitys-amazing-iwaoi">art of the last scene by the wonderful cvabent!</a></p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Let me know what you thought or hit me up on <a href="https://redroseinsanity.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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